


I've seen this all before

by Raptarion



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: But changing it is a whole 'nother story, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Lena Oxton can see the future, Semi graphic description of A major character death, Survivor Guilt, The alive short from Tracer's POV, dunno what else to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 14:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16220651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raptarion/pseuds/Raptarion
Summary: The scene was familiar. Her. Falling through the sky. A crowd of onlookers below. And the bright lights of the city in the background.“Oh.” Tracer realizes, mind recovering from the explosion. “This is when I die.”The widowmaker is in the air in front of her. She’d not seen the shooter the first time.“In hindsight, it had to be her. Who else could hit a shot like that?”





	I've seen this all before

Déjà vu. A common phrase. One meaning something has already been seen. It was a common phenomenon for people to be suddenly struck with familiarity in a scene playing out in front of them in their life. A smell, or sound, or a half remembered dream. It triggered an emotion and a sense of familiarity that one couldn’t quite grasp. Tracer was fond of using this phrase. It fit her shtick. Time travel, even for only herself, lent itself well to such a phrase. Though, for her, it had a whole other meaning. A more literal one. When Tracer used the phrase Déjà vu, she means that she quite literally had seen what was happening before.

When she became lost in the slipstream, she found herself adrift in a place where timelines had borders about as solid as smoke. She witnessed countless moments in the time she’d spent there. As much as one could spend time in the slipstream at least. She sometimes thinks she must have spent decades in that strange place from her point of view. Catching glimpses of herself in untold different lives, from her youngest days in the crib, to her deathbed in the distant future. And while there were plenty of things she saw that she knew she’d never witness herself, there was also hints to her own future. These memories stuck in her mind. Some in the forefront. Others ready to surface when she came around to them.

She had tried, many times, to make things better with this knowledge. But learned rather quickly that this wouldn’t work out too well. She sees someone burn their throat with too hot coffee. But in trying to stop them before they can drink it, she accidentally makes them spill it all over themselves.  
She sees forces in a battle being redirected to a building with civilians in it, and convinces a superior to send troops to help. The civilians survive. The troops all die. And they’re forced to retreat from a fight they would have otherwise won with their flank exposed.  
By the time she got to the day she realized Ana Amari was on a mission that would take her life, she’d stopped trying to make things better, and didn’t bother contacting her CO in the field, for fear that the brief distraction of the call would open them to an ambush, or worse.  
Maybe it was some god, or the slipstream, or anything else. Some intelligence that manipulated the outcomes. Or maybe there was just always some set amount of suffering that needed to happen, and the universe compensated for it. But there was one thing Lena was sure of.

There was always a cost for changing things.  
\---------------  
The scene was familiar. Her. Falling through the sky. A crowd of onlookers below. And the bright lights of the city in the background.

“Oh.” Tracer realizes, mind recovering from the explosion. “This is when I die.”

The widowmaker is in the air in front of her. She’d not seen the shooter the first time. One of the details omitted by the slipstream.  
“In hindsight, it had to be her. Who else could hit a shot like that?”

In all fairness, she wasn’t going to die here. For all intents and purposes she would be dead. But she would not die. The bullet would pierce the front of the accelerator, through her torso, and then rip out the other side. The machinery would be damaged beyond repair, and she would fall back into the slipstream. But before she fell into the slipstream, she would fall to the street below. The impact would be devastating. Lethal. Her spine would break. Her skull would shatter. The wounds would be too catastrophic. The great Angela Ziegler herself could be waiting on the streets below with a full staff and her best equipment, and it would not be enough.

After she hits the ground, the accelerator would fail. She would return to the slipstream. And her friends would never be able to bring her back. To do so would be certain death for her. They may have tried it anyway. Tried to beat the odds. Had she not explicitly stated that if their options were to bring her back critically wounded, or leave her in the slipstream, they would do the latter. Lena was afraid of death. She didn’t know what was waiting for her on the other side. But the slipstream. She knew the slipstream. And in a way, knowing that was where she was going to return was comforting.

“I thought I’d have been more ready by now.” Lena thinks to herself. She had known she likely wouldn’t live to an old age. Even if she hadn’t seen her death in this moment, she knew her lifestyle was dangerous. That it played with fire. But she’d worked so hard to do good her entire life. Help as many people as she could. Be the hero others needed. She’d hit the ground running as soon as they cleared her for field duty. Never a moment to rest. Always someone else she could help. She’d thought that when the time came, she would be able to look back on she had done and be proud. And yet…

“I’m not ready yet. There’s still so much I can do! People still need me! I can’t stop now! Please.”

\---------------

She had closed her eyes in anticipation of the pain. But it didn’t come. Because by some miracle, her payer had worked. She’d managed to recall before the shot found its’ mark. She grips at the accelerator in disbelief. Checking to confirm that, yes, it didn’t have a scratch. A figure at the periphery of her vision pulls her attention away from the device that acted as her anchor to this timeline. The widowmaker stands there, her figure relaxed. As if they hadn’t just been in a shootout. Before she can think of anything to say, Widowmaker speaks up.  
“Looks like the party is over.”

The words don’t make sense at first. Her face scrunches up in confusion before a dawning horror overcomes her. She runs to the edge of the rooftop, looking down at the crowd, pushing up to get a clearer view of Mondatta. Lying, still, lifeless, just inside of their car.  
“No no no.” She says, as if the words would make what she was seeing less true.  
“No no no NO!”

There was always a cost for changing things.

She whips her head around in anger to face the one who had killed him. The accelerator whirs to life as she charges her, blindly throwing all of herself into the tackle. They tumble across the roof, and she lands on top of the assassin, her head draping over the edge of the roof. Anguish and fury grips at her heart and she can’t even think straight.  
“WHY?” She screams. The exclamation coming out before she knows what she’s asking. Her next words come softer. More earnestly.  
“Why would you do this?” She asks.  
The face of the murderer below her lights up in an expression of such genuine and condescending amusement that Lena doesn’t know what to do. This woman had just killed one of the greatest people on the planet. Someone who had dedicated their entire existence to peace, and coexistence. And she was laughing.

They were interrupted by the arrival of a drop ship. Lena turns to look at the craft as it caused wind to bellow all around them, only to be nearly blinded by the spotlights attached to it. She is suddenly jerked by the collar back around to look at Widowmaker.  
“Adieu, chérie.” She mocks. Before yanking them both over the edge of the roof. She’s twisted around in the air and slammed into the wall, before falling the rest of the way to the ground in a painful slump. She slowly finds the strength to drag herself to her feet. All the while she can feel tears beginning to form in her eyes as the reality of what has just happened set in.

Mondatta was dead. And had she not used her accelerator, he would still be alive.

She tried to recall. Not just herself but everything. Willing herself to tap into the slipstream and turn things back. The machine whirrs in protest.  
“Take me back.” She says, trying again. The accelerator doesn’t even give her the courtesy of making any noise in protest this time.  
“I said take me back!” She cries, tears spilling out freely now. Again, the accelerator is silent. She falls back down to the ground.  
“Damn it all I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have tried to change things. I just reacted. It was a mistake.”  
She reaches up to curl her fingers around the front of the accelerator, gripping it tightly enough to hurt.  
“I’m just a hot-headed wise-cracking vigilante. A relic of a dead peace-keeping force that failed everyone. The world doesn’t need me. But it needs him. Take me instead.”

There’s no response. And Lena can’t choke out any more pleas through the sobs that have begun to rack her body.


End file.
